


The Life Inbetween

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Erotica, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-23
Updated: 2008-11-23
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: Harry and Ron see the play ‘Equus’, which brings up some fairly unpleasant memories for Harry.





	The Life Inbetween

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Written for a hprwfqf in 2007.  Based on the prompt: “Harry takes Ron to see ‘Equus’ (Harry’s POV)."
> 
> This story borrows the concept from one of my favorite stories by [](http://magicofisis.insanejournal.com/profile)[**magicofisis**](http://magicofisis.insanejournal.com/) called [“Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire Premiere”](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/hprwfqf/%E2%80%9Chttp://www.geocities.com/magicofisis/HPGOF.html%E2%80%9D). You don’t have to have read that story to understand this one (though you really should because it’s wonderful). Just know that the universes as we know them collide and converge. It is with her permission that I write this story and dedicate it to her in remembrance of our shared London/Equus experience in March 2007.
> 
> Beta’ed (TWICE!!!) by the said wonderful [](http://magicofisis.insanejournal.com/profile)[**magicofisis**](http://magicofisis.insanejournal.com/) and the lovely [](http://www.insanejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=aome)[](http://www.insanejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=aome)**aome** who caught many errors, and gave sage and much appreciated advice. Any remaining mistakes and stupidity remain mine alone. 

“Merlin’s balls!”

Harry glanced at Ron, whose face was filled with wonder. The crowds streamed around them as the two men stopped to stare.

“Yeah, pretty impressive, huh?” Harry grinned as Ron continued to stare at the building-sized poster of a well-toned torso and muscular, outstretched arms.

“What play is this again?” Ron asked.

“’Equus’ by Peter Shaeffer. This is one of the classics of Muggle theatre. It was first written in the early 1970s…” Harry tried to explain.

“Who cares?” Ron tore his eyes away from the theatre ad. “What’s it about?”

“Well, it’s about a boy who develops a psycho-religious, erotic fascination with horses.”

Ron’s eyes grew wider, if that was possible. “Erotic? You mean…he has sex with a horse? On stage?” he nearly shouted.

“No, no! Shhh!!” Harry frantically shushed him. “But he does almost have sex with a girl—“

“Eww. Why would we want to see that?”

“Well, he—“ Harry stopped. “Let’s just see the play. You’ll understand once you’ve seen it.”

“Have you seen it before?”

Harry hesitated. “No, I haven’t. But I read it, and I’ve read some newspaper articles about it. And… I thought it would be a good play to see. It’s a little on the heavy dramatic side, but it’s fascinating and it’s one of the classics of Muggle theatre.”

”You’ve already said that. Why is it a ‘classic’?”

“Um…yeah. Well, it is. And…we should see it because a play like this doesn’t come along every day. It’s about, well, it’s just one of those plays that really tries to get at the heart of the human condition.”

Ron gave him an appraising look. “You’ve never gone to the theatre before, not in all the years we’ve been together. Why now?”

“How do you know I don’t go to the theatre?” Harry shot back a tad defensively. “I like going to the cinema. It’s just—well, I don’t… Fuck, Ron. I thought this would just be something different for us to do. It’s been ages since we’ve been to London.”

Harry could tell Ron was skeptical. A passer-by knocked into him, causing him to break eye contact. “Hey, watch it!” Ron called out after the retreating figure. “You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go before we hold up traffic too much more.”

They crossed busy Shaftesbury Avenue carefully watching for cars and buses. “Too bad we can’t just Apparate into the theatre,” Ron muttered as he hunkered down into his jacket. “Shame the Apparition point is so far away.”

“But then we never would’ve found that restaurant.”

Ron smiled. “Cor, that was lucky, wasn’t it? They even had spotted dick for an after. It’s been an age since I’ve had that. I think you planned that ‘specially.”

“Nope. Just our luck, though. Ron!” Harry grabbed him as a taxi roared out of the side street. “You have to look even at the small streets. Taxis don’t slow down if you’re not in a pedestrian zone.”

They arrived at the crowded theatre with plenty of time to spare. The excitement in the small lobby was palpable.

“Wow, this is some crowd,” Ron said in Harry’s ear. “Is this a really popular play?”

“Yeah, the advance notices have been really good. Need to get our tickets,” Harry said. He pulled Ron up to the box office and checked with the attendant.

“Here you are, Mr. Potter,” the genial young man said, handing Harry an envelope.

Harry and Ron made their way through the throng. “Hey, they’ve got food!” Ron said.

“We just ate,” Harry teased. “What about an ale?”

“All right, I could go for one of them.” Harry caught the eye of the clerk and purchased a Newcastle and a bottle of water. Ron raised an eyebrow as Harry opened the water.

“What?” Harry said, taking a sip.

“Nothing.”

Finally, a woman called out that the seats were open. Harry gave her the tickets and was pointed towards the left side. “Go up the stairs, and the door to the box is on the right.”

They climbed the stairs and arrived at a door marked ‘Box B’.

“Box seats?” Ron exclaimed. “Do we sit inside a box?”

“No,” Harry said. “But we do have our own little room.”

They entered the space which held just four seats. “Nice! Wow, the stage is really close. Did these cost you as much as those tickets we had for the U2 concert?”

Harry grinned. “No, not quite that much.”

“Well, that’s good. Never could see the use of paying so much to see a show when we could just listen to the CD at home. We could go to the cinema for a lot less, don’t you reckon?” Ron sat in the comfortable chair and wiggled around.

“Ron, it’s okay. Really. Seeing a play performed live is just—it’s unlike anything else.” Harry paused to think, then said, “To see characters come to life before your eyes is so much better than the cinema. You never know what will happen—will someone trip or blow a line or giggle or be absolutely brilliant.”

Ron grinned at him. “Thought about this, have you?”

“Yeah, I have, actually. I saw several plays when I worked the Auror beat here a few years back. Was in a couple of plays when I was little, before I went to Hogwarts.” Harry picked at the arm of his seat. “Dudley…well, anyway. The experience pretty much ended all thoughts of becoming an actor.”

A chime rang out, along with a welcoming announcement that the play would begin. Ron quickly swallowed the rest of his beer. “This is the first time the play’s been performed?” he asked.

“No. They’ve been doing it for a few weeks,” Harry whispered as the stage area darkened. “This is the official opening for the press and critics.”

“Guess everyone’s gonna be nervous, huh?”

“Shhh.”

Eerie music started as smoke arose from the stage, engulfing the six men who entered and lifted and lowered gleaming metal horse heads to theirs. Then, a young man, wearing only baggy blue jeans, walked slowly onto the stage. One of the ‘horses’ followed; the man turned and embraced it. A portly man entered, lit a cigarette, and began to speak.

Harry was already engrossed in the words when Ron poked him. “Hey, he sounds familiar. Where’ve we heard him?”

Harry waved him off. The young man reappeared, this time wearing a blue shirt and shoes.

“Oh my god. Harry!” Ron whispered excitedly. “That’s him. It’s the kid who plays you in the films.”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry confirmed, never taking his eyes off the action on the stage.

“Is ‘Ron’ in the play?” Ron looked around. “Is Rupert here?”

“No, he isn’t. The big man is the same one who plays Uncle Vernon.”

Ron looked hard. “Nah, can’t be. He’s got white hair and glasses.”

“It’s him, I promise.” Harry was concentrating on the action before them. “Let’s just watch the play, all right?”

But he was also watching Ron out of the corner of his eye. Ron seemed to be enjoying the play, especially the more humorous parts: he laughed, he listened intently, but he tended to fidget during the more serious scenes. Harry, for his part, was riveted, and uncomfortable.

The first act ended dramatically, and Harry let go a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Blimey,” Ron said, slumping back in his chair, “that was—he’s really good, Dan is? Isn’t he? I don’t think I took a breath for the last ten minutes.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He shook his head to clear away the powerful word and images. He tried desperately to try to say something else, but the words wouldn’t come.

“He’s not a kid anymore.” Ron sat back up in his chair and craned his neck to look around the theatre. He relaxed again and said, “He’s rather nice looking.”

Harry made a humming sound in acknowledgement.

“Did you know he was doing this play?”

“Umm…” Harry thought how to tell him. “Yeah, I did. He—Dan got in touch with me about it.”

Ron turned to face him fully. “Really? Why’d he do that?”

Ron asked the one question Harry hoped he wouldn’t. He knew Ron would put it all together, eventually.

“He said he was doing research on boys his age who had gone through ‘great emotional trauma’ and he wanted to know what it was like to spend time in a psychiatric hospital.”

Ron boggled. “He—he what? Harry, we all agreed we would never have any contact with the actors. We agreed—“ Ron was interrupted by the door to the box opening; a waiter with a tray of drinks handed Harry a water and Ron an ale, then withdrew—“We agreed they didn’t need to know everything about what happened. How did he know about you? About the time you spent in the spell damage ward?” Ron continued to level a stern glare at Harry.

Harry took a long drink of the cool water, and then looked at his hands for several minutes; Ron waited, not so patiently, for the response. Harry searched for the right words.

“I know what we all agreed to, and I’ve held to it. _He_ found me. And this isn’t about ‘Harry Potter’,” Harry said. “I’m not sure how he knew I was at St. Mungo’s, and he didn’t tell me who told him. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that ‘emotional trauma’ could apply to what happened to me. He’s read the books, and while what I told Jo is the light and happy version, I reckon it’s pretty shocking for a middle-class schoolboy to meet someone who’s gone through even half of what I did. Even without the last book, Dan is smart enough to figure out what had to have happened.”

“But—“.

“I told him about the _process_ of being treated, not about what I said during treatment. And even then I had to read the play and some articles about Muggle psychiatric care to translate Wizarding care into terms he could understand.”

Harry downed the rest of his water, then turned and faced Ron. “Only you, Ron—only you know the truth, everything that happened. From day one. Not even Hermione knows everything.”

Ron thought about what Harry said, then nodded and took Harry’s hand. “Thank you for saying that.”

Harry squeezed back. “It’s the truth.”

“I know.”

The two sat looking at each other intently until an announcement signaled it was time for the play to being again.

As the second act of the play began and Dan’s character, Alan, and his beloved horse returned to the stage, Harry thought about the time he’d spent in St. Mungo’s following the war. Listening to the conversation between the boy and the psychiatrist brought back memories of his own treatment, time spent exploring his past. Now, seeing Dan acting the part very convincingly of a deeply troubled young man, Harry found it harder to keep his mind from wandering to his own experiences. As Alan fell deeper and deeper into despair as he described his psychosis, time stood still; Harry’s thoughts narrowed to those haunting months after the war.

Suddenly, the loud, discordant music and Ron’s gasp brought Harry back to reality. He realized the play had moved to the griping, disturbing re-enactment of Alan blinding the horses. Alan nimbly ran around the stage, stabbing the ‘horses’; lights flashed and the cry of injured horses rent the air. The smoke, light and loud noises combined to trigger a familiar panicky feeling. Harry breathed deeply, trying to remember the relaxation techniques he’d learned in therapy. As Alan continued shouting, the climax of his breakdown eminent, Harry suddenly jumped up and left the box.

He stood in the corridor outside, then slid down the wall to squat on his haunches, holding his head in his hands, breathing hard, and desperately trying to banish the images of war and death and grief that flashed through his mind. Suddenly a burst of loud cheering and applauding washed over him, and Ron’s arms were around him.

“Harry? Harry! You okay?”

The warmth of Ron’s body on his and the low whispering of his voice all combined to immediately calm Harry. He looked up into Ron’s concerned blue eyes.

“Yeah,” he said weakly. “I-I think so.”

“No, you’re not.” Ron hauled him up and gathered him into his arms. “Let’s go, mate.”

But then Harry remembered what was going on. “No! I have to see Dan give his bow. Please. He knows I’m here.”

Ron pulled him back into the box. The cheering was louder as the actors took bows. Then Dan and Richard Griffiths came on-stage together, which elicited ever louder cheering and applauding. Harry applauded as hard as he could with his shaky hands. Ron whistled loudly whilst holding onto Harry with one arm. Dan looked their way, and gave them a shaky smile. Then, he raised an eyebrow and gave them an imperceptible nod. Harry acknowledged it with his own nod. Ron continued to cheer for the company.

“Merlin,” Ron said, “that was amazing. Fantastic.” He helped Harry into a chair, and for a few minutes they sat together.

“We don’t have to leave just yet, you know,” Ron said, now rubbing large, soothing circles on Harry’s back. “Can you talk about it?”

Harry shook his head. “Not yet.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay, you know. I’m here.”

Harry lifted his head, tears in his eyes. “I know.”

They sat in the box for a long time, Ron watching the crowd filter out, Harry breathing deeply and banishing the images and panic. Finally, Harry wearily said, “Dammit. I thought all of this was under control.”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve had a panic attack, yeah?

“Yeah, it has.”

“Too bad you had to miss the last of the play,” Ron said casually. “It was really great.”

What might have been interpreted as an inappropriate comment if anyone else had heard it, was exactly what Harry needed. He needed Ron to be normal, to be just _Ron,_ , to bring him out of his self-induced panic attack. “Oh well. I read the play, so I know what he says at the end,” Harry said with a small laugh.

“Yeah, but it’s so much better when you hear it performed by a real, live, breathing actor,” Ron said. “I think I get what you were saying about theatre. It really is much better than the cinema.”

“Suck up.”

“Pansy.”

“Git.”

Ron burst into laughter. “You’re really gonna be okay, aren’t you?”

Harry also laughed. “Of course, I am. I’m not a sodding pansy.”

Ron snorted. “Of course not. You just go to the _theatre_.” He ended with a dramatic gesture.

Harry punched him in the arm.

They sat for a few more minutes. Harry pulled the ticket envelope out of his jacket pocket, opened it, and pulled out a white card.

“What’s that?” Ron said.

“Dan gave me the tickets for tonight, and he’s included a backstage pass.”

“Really? Wicked! Is there some sort of party going on?”

“Probably, with it being opening night and all.” Harry sighed.

“Oh, well, you probably don’t want to go . . . .”

“No, I really do. I think I need to see him if only to tell him how well he did.” Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

Ron stood. “Look, we don’t have to linger. Just give him the thumbs-up and we’ll find a dark corner and Apparate the hell out.”

Harry agreed. They made their way to the stage door where a large, burley man looked at the card severely. “They’re back there,” he said gruffly.

Ron pulled Harry through the door and into the milling crowd. Harry started to feel a bit closed-in, but fought back the rising panic again. _Hang on, just hang on,_ he thought. They made their way to a doorway, where Harry backed up against a wall.

Harry spotted Dan, who was chatting with a young woman, and gave him a half-wave. Dan brightened, and made to excuse himself from his companion, but Ron went up to him before Harry could move.

Harry couldn’t make out what Ron was saying, but it was animated and Dan was smiling up at him. Then, Ron gave the young man a hearty handshake and a quick one-armed hug. When they parted, Dan gave Harry a thumbs-up sign and a big smile. Harry returned it.

‘C’mon,” Ron said, pulling Harry down a corridor. “I gave Dan the short-version of why you’re not meeting him tonight. He’ll talk to you later. And—“he waggled his eyebrows—“I know where his dressing room is.”

Harry boggled, looking around furtively. “His dressing room? Ron, you cannot be serious. We can’t have sex in his dressing room. That would be so wrong on so—“

Ron paused outside a door marked _Daniel_. “Harry, what the fuck do you take me for? We’re gonna Apparate home from here.”

“Oh.” Harry blushed. “I thought you’d—“

Ron pulled him into the room. “Can you handle Apparition by yourself?”

Harry made a rude gesture.

“See you there.” And he was gone with a pop.

Harry took a quick look around the small, cluttered space and noted piles of books and cards and a wadded-up t-shirt on a cot. He relaxed and smiled at the evidence of a normal teenage boy, then centered his thoughts on the warded room of their home, and focused. Ron was waiting for him. “How exhausted are you?”

“I’m fine. Really. I don’t know why I went off like that tonight. It was stupid of me.”

“No, it wasn’t. That was a really intense play. And it’s a testament to how good they all were that it affected you like that.”

“Yeah, but—“

“No ‘yeah buts’. Look, Harry, I’m sorry I doubted you,” Ron said plainly. “It’s not my story or my life. It’s yours to do with what you want. And if you want to share it, even the bad stuff, then that’s your decision.”

“Ron, the reason why I decided to tell Jo my story is because I’m so lucky to be alive. I’m lucky to have friends and you and Hogwarts and magic and you,” Harry said. “And in some totally fucked up way, even the bad shit makes me lucky. I lived through it.”

“Damn straight you did.”

“It’s mine, all of it. It’s my life, my story.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“And as shitty as it was, my life is a whole lot better.”

“That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

“Right!”

It was the old pep talk Ron gave him during the dark days of his recovery and after. Though it was true Harry hadn’t had a panic attack in years, he found it soothing and affirming to hear the words again.

Harry sat on the sofa. “One of the things I told Dan was that therapy was about helping someone find their way. Drugs, or in our case, potions, are sometimes used to restore health and balance to the brain. But psychotherapy is a process, a journey, a way to assist us in finding a life to live in the extremes, between being absolutely crazy and living totally closed off from the world and other people. In Dan’s character’s case, I told him I thought therapy would help him find the balance between his passion and normalcy, to redirect his need to worship and that it’s okay to need to have that kind of spiritual connection with something.”

“Wow, really? You learned all that?” Ron looked truly impressed.

“Yeah. One of the things you learn about therapy by being in therapy is how therapy works.” Harry stopped, thinking through what he’d just said. Then, he laughed. “That sounds utterly mad, doesn’t it?”

Ron thought. “No, it makes sense. You didn’t learn about therapy from a book or a class. You experienced it.”

Harry nodded. “In my case, and I told Dan what therapy did was help me to understand that most of the shit that happened to me wasn’t my fault. I was pulled into those bad situations by things so far beyond my control that it was pretty amazing I lived, or didn’t go so completely mental that I did something truly heinous. And that what saved me was the love that not only my parents gave me, but the love that I knew instinctively I had from everyone around me, like Hermione and Professor Dumbledore and your family. But, most especially, from you.”

“From me? But we didn’t—”he waved his hand in front of him—“you know, get together until much later.”

“Ron, love isn’t sex. It isn’t even romance. Love is what happens. And through all the years and everything that happened, I knew you loved me and loved me best.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Ron broke into a huge smile. “C’mere!”

Harry fell into Ron’s arms with a laugh. “What would I do without you?”

“Fall into a life of drink and ruin and bad sex, I’m sure.” Ron hugged him. “Harry, you’re ok, aren’t you?”

Harry kissed him, feeling more lively. “I am now. It was a fantastic play, wasn’t it? I’ll have to send an owl—I mean, ring Dan and tell him tomorrow.”

“You do that,” Ron said, pulling his hand. “But right now, I have something much more pleasurable in mind for you.”

“You do?” Harry said coyly. “And what would that be?”

“Oh, I have this really great book I want to read. Got one for you, too.”

Harry laughed. “Now _that’s_ got to be the worst lie ever.”

Ron continued pulling him along the hall and into their bedroom. “I’m pants at romance, you know.”

“No you’re not. You’re the best,” Harry said. And he kissed Ron again. “Make me feel alive. Make love to me.”

Ron grinned. As he kissed the sensitive spot on Harry’s neck, his hands found and removed his jacket, then his shirt. He lingered on Harry’s chest, tweaking his nipples. Harry moaned.

“Does that make you feel alive?”

“Yessss…” Harry said. “Everything you do makes me feel alive.”

Ron reached for Harry’s belt, released it, and unzipped his trousers. He slid his hands under the waistband of Harry’s boxers and slid them down. Harry wiggled the rest of the way out of them, along with his shoes and socks.

“My turn.”

Harry took care to remove Ron’s shirts and trousers, just as Ron had with his, pausing to kiss his freckled skin. Ron hissed when Harry suckled on his right nipple; he moaned when he laved a trail down the valley of his chest and abdomen. Harry paused to gently lick Ron’s navel, something that always caused Ron to squirm with anticipation.

“Wait, no,” Ron breathed. “I’m supposed to be doing that, making you feel alive.”

“Mmm … but when you make those noises, I know I’m alive,” Harry replied.

“Up, up here with me.” Ron pulled Harry to him. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

“Thought that’s what was happening.”

Ron smiled. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. It is.”

Harry rolled over as Ron leaned over him to the side table to retrieve the pot of lubricant.

“Mmmmm,” Ron hummed. “You have the nicest arse I’ve ever seen.

“It’s about the only arse you’ve ever seen.”

“Is not.”

Ron flipped Harry over onto his back. “The locker room shower does not qualify,” Harry said.

“Shut it. I’m making love to you.”

Ron silenced him with a fierce kiss, and slowly and carefully prepared Harry with loving caresses and gentle fingers. Harry moaned as Ron teased Harry’s sensitive spot. And when Ron entered Harry’s body, Harry arched, pleasure washing through him in ever-growing intensity. When Ron took Harry’s cock in his slick hand, Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. When Ron thrust deeper and faster, Harry climaxed, exhaling Ron’s name with each breath.

“God, that was excellent,” Ron huffed into Harry’s neck.

“More than excellent,” Harry breathed. “It was fucking amazing.”

“Don’t you mean amazing fucking?” Ron said.

Harry laughed. “Yeah, it was that too.”

“Mmmm…”

Harry lay contentedly in the curve of Ron’s arms and body for a long time. Finally, Ron said sleepily, “You okay?”

Harry exhaled contently. “Yeah, I am. Thanks to you. And not because of the excellent sex.”

“I know.”

Ron fell into silence, though Harry could tell he wanted to say something else. As always, Harry waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts because Ron usually had something important to say if he had to think about it.

“Harry,” Ron began as Harry curled into his chest, “why d’you think Dan wanted to talk to you specifically about your time after the war? I mean, aren’t there loads of Muggle boys who’ve gone round the twist and had to be helped?”

Ahhh. There was the question that had been bugging Ron all night. Harry thought carefully about his conversation with the young actor, and then said:

“I don’t know that he didn’t talk to other boys; he may have. But I think…I think he feels some sort of connection with me. To me. I dunno. We don’t have a lot in common, for sure, but he said that after finding out I was real, we _are_ real, he’s been really curious about me and wanted to know me better.”

Harry paused again, trying to process his feelings. “I mean, when we talked, it was like having a…I don’t know, like a younger brother or something.” He traced Ron’s fingers on his arm with his own. “I don’t know what that feels like, and neither does he ‘cause he told me he’s an only child. But maybe … maybe it’s kind of what Bill and Charlie feel about you. And me. They’ve always been really good to me, offering me advice and stuff. I felt a little of that about him. It was … nice.”

“And the crazy part? How did he know that?” Ron prompted.

“Like I said, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out I’d gone through some deep shit. Dan’s very perceptive.”

“Hmm…Maybe he just got damn lucky.”

“Maybe.”

Silence followed. Harry thought Ron might have fallen asleep, but then Ron said, “You know, if you’d like to get to know him better, I wouldn’t get angry or anything.”

Harry nearly stopped breathing. “What?”

“I mean, if you have this brother thing going on between you two, well, I think it might be a good deal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll understand how annoying it is to have a younger sibling.”

Harry laughed, turning and facing Ron to kiss him. “I get to experience what Bill and Charlie have had to put up with all these years, then.”

“Something like that.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe Dan would ever be half the prat you are.”

Ron slapped him lightly upside the head. “Oy!” Then, he, too, chuckled. “But you have to remember he’s a Muggle, and you can’t tell him too much.”

“Oh, I know.

“Everything?”

“Well, the heavily edited and sanitized version.” Harry hugged Ron closely. “Love you.”

“Love you too, you wild-haired git.”

*~*

Ron settled into a deep sleep, but Harry’s mind was busily tumbling over what they’d talked about. Carefully and slowly, he extracted himself from Ron’s embrace and rose, pulling on a dressing gown. Pausing to retrieve his wand he slipped from the bedroom to the study next door, and whispered, " _Lumos!_ " The subdued glow was just enough for him to find a small book on the desk. He sat in a comfortable arm chair and re-read the parts of ‘Equus’ he’d missed that evening, easily filling in Dan’s face and voice for that of the character on the page. Harry marveled at how magnificent Dan was in this part, though the young man himself had never experienced the kind of emotional suffering and distress Peter Shaeffer put his character through. And in the privacy of his own home, surrounded by the comfort and passion of his lover and best friend, Harry could truly appreciate the artistry of the acting and the haunting words of the playwright.

He found and picked up his cellular phone, one of the Muggle concessions he made in his Wizarding life, and checked the time. _Not too late for a theatre actor on opening night to receive a call_ , he mused as he punched in the number.

“Dan! Hi, it’s Harry. Just wanted to tell you congratulations. I’m so glad you invited me and Ron to see the play tonight….”


End file.
